𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 - my little shit

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 "𝐆𝐎𝐃, 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 believe you own so many flannels." Max's voice had her usual edge of snark, the familiar twang of absolute, raw judgement. Her fingers had curled around the flowing edge of Scarlet's unbuttoned shirt, tugging on it as though it had personally offended her. It had. "You need to get a sense of fashion."

 Scarlet blinked, unintimidated by the girl — how could she be after watching Maxine Mayfield stare at her as though she was the moon itself? She flicked the girl's finger, "Has anyone ever told you that you're —"

 "— a bit of a bitch?" Max shrugged as though they were talking about the boring humidity that had suddenly sprouted within the air, "All the time. I live with Billy, remember?"

 The mere mention of Max's older sibling made Scarlet's fists tighten into a fierce ball. How could she not remember? Her poor knuckles were scarred over, and to this day she could swear her stomach constricted as though his heavy boot had slammed into her torso just an hour prior. It was hard to forget Billy fucking Hargrove, even if she wanted to — and she really wanted to.

 "What an asshole," Scarlet muttered, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as she watched Max toss her skateboard from one hand to another, scowling at the tape she'd had to smother it in just to seal off a splinter.

 Max snorted, this was why she'd been so drawn to Scarlet; they were the same person. They stood up for what they believed in, they called someone an asshole if that's what they were being; there were no filters, because really, who had the damn time for that?

 It was easy with Scarlet, Max had found that out rather quickly. It was easy to be herself, she didn't feel the need to try harder to fit in like she had with the boys — or rather, still had to, thanks to Mike. She didn't have to keep the occurrences within her house a dirty secret buried six-foot beneath the ground. Scarlet knew of every fight her parents had, of every foul word that slipped from Billy's tongue.

 Because she listened. 

 "But," Max chimed as the duo trudged along the sidewalk. Her sneakers squashed a bug as they passed by a bunch of kids trailing after it. It made Max grin when one of them cried out in anguish, "Billy being an asshole doesn't excuse your shitty outfit."

 "Okay, judgey, first of all; if the flannel was gone, what would you think?"

 "Ten times better."

 "That brings me to my second of all — I'm telling Hopper you said that."

 "What's he gonna do? Arrest me for his bad taste?"

 Scarlet slung an arm around Max's shoulder, careful as to not tangle her fingers within her billowing red locks. If it was anyone else — bar Lucas Sinclair, Max's little boyfriend — Max would have shoved them off with a pretty scowl and a flick of her middle finger.

 "I do love you, Maxine." Scarlet sang, eyes flicking across the road as one of the neighbourhood kids bellowed out a scream when a hungry little bumble bee began to chase after the sweet scent of their swiftly melting ice cream.

 Max huffed, "If you loved me, you wouldn't call me Maxine." Her voice had a low drawl to it, deepening with her ever-lasting sarcasm.

 Scarlet ignored it and simply tugged the girl closer, "Tell me you love me."

 "No."

 "Maxine Mayfield!" The name flew from her lips like a pot of sugary honey... That was when her fingers dug into the girl's side. They wriggled and writhed like a worm abandoned on a slippery sidewalk.

 Max's cheeks puffed out, trying with all her might to restrain the laughter that had already brewed within the back of her throat. Much to the girl's dismay, it wasn't a laugh that escaped. It was a squeal.

 "Okay!" She hollered, "Okay, fine! I love you too." She was gasping for breath, her legs almost buckling and threatening to send her to the ground in a heap of limbs and ginger waves.

 "That's what I thought, now," Scarlet breathed, straightening the flannel around her as though Max hadn't just given it the most withering glare she'd ever seen, "If you're that offended by my attire —" Max's lips had curled, likely ready to spout some witty insult, "We can go and find something... new."

 "Shopping?"

 "Shopping."

 That was how the girls found themselves now slumped atop Maxine's beds, absolutely tuckered out with sweat pooling on their flushed foreheads.

 They had entered every single store in Hawkins, or it had at least felt as though they did. Brown paper bags littered Max's bedroom floor, each one stuffed to the very brim of jeans and shorts, tops and sweaters all for Scarlet — though some were, indeed, for Max,  because how could Scarlet possibly say no to her?

 There were bursts of colour within the bags; Max had set a very strict criterion — No flannel. No brown. Those two little boxes had checked off around eighty percent of Scarlet's wardrobe; excluding only her light and dark-washed jeans.

 Now there were piles of colourful shirts, and new jean shorts to tuck them into; ready for the summer months that would come to maim them all. There was a pair of denim dungarees that Max had ultimately forced Scarlet to slither into... they'd both been smitten with the outcome, especially when paired with a bright yellow shirt to peek out the sides. Old and ratty shoes caked with mud had been tossed aside — though not thrown out, Scarlet wasn't a heathen and she knew that her rough little pair of converse still looked... good enough — and replaced with new ones; a white pair that glinted like the summer sun.

 All in all, it had been a complete success.

 "I need a nap." Scarlet breathed, her head slumped within Max's pillow. Her hair was sprawled around her — far longer than she'd ever had it before.

 Max blinked lazily, her arms folded behind her head as she kicked her shoes off, groaning as they slipped from her feet and toppled to the ground, "Me too..." Her lips curved, "What time is Steve getting here, huh?"

 Max's voice always took a particular tone whenever Steve Harrington was mentioned; it was light, breezier than her usual snark... Scarlet wanted to push her off the bed, in all honesty. Rather than bully an actual child — though she wasn't above it — Scarlet only cracked a single eye open, hardly able to spy the girl, "He'll be here..." A yawn tore past her lips and she craned her neck to glare at Max's ticking clock, "In an hour... why?"

 "You don't want to be tired on your date with him do you?"

 "Not this again." Scarlet buried her face back into the pillow, her forehead would have to be peeled from her arm later. Each and every single one of the kids had taken up this silly notion that just because she and Steve were friends — best friends — they would suddenly find themselves back at skull rock locking lips. It was absurd, "Max, how many times do I have to tell you that —"

 "—'We're just friends.' Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Scar." Max couldn't stand it. She knew, with absolute certainty, that Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins high, now resident outcast with... quite brilliant hair, had a crush on her.

 It was obvious! His cheeks would flush as dark as a bottle of matured wine for God's sake. He'd stare at her every single time she looked away, wide brown eyes filled with utter devotion — it was almost sad. In Max's humble opinion, Steve Harrington was whipped... and it had only taken him four and a half months of knowing Scarlet to have fallen so very hard.

 She couldn't blame him, not really. After all, it wasn't every day that you met a literal superhero with a voice as sweet as honey, and a face as pretty as a freshly blossoming rose. To Max, Scarlet was everything anyone could want. That was why she looked up to her... because Maxine saw herself within the teenager, but she also saw everything she wanted to be.

 But Scarlet's ever-lasting self-loathing made it impossible for her to see the truth. Max didn't want to push her, so she settled with snarky comments and sly jokes about the twosome... but even those had sometimes brought Scarlet into a bout of silence. 

 Max didn't get it. But then, maybe she never would; none of them knew much about Scarlet and her past, nothing more than harsh treatment in the lab, to becoming a runaway... and now she was Hawkins resident superhero number two — number one — but Eleven was there first.

 "Listen," Max said, ignoring the heavy and reverberating groan that made Scarlet's entire body deflate like a sad little balloon at a child's lacklustre birthday party, "I'll leave it alone —"

 "— Thank God —"

 "— If you get Steve to drop me off at Lucas'."

 "Blackmail? Who raised you?"

 Max tossed herself over Scarlet, laughing freely when the teenager groaned in protest, "Oh I get that from you."

 Scarlet, as much as she wished she could throw Max off, as much as she wished she had the willpower to say no to the girl currently crushing her spine... she couldn't. Max was to Scarlet... well... she was precisely what Eleven was; the only difference was the red hair and lack of a tiny little tattoo to match — though she knew that if anyone would try to get a tattoo at fourteen, it would be Maxine Mayfield.

 Scarlet rolled as best she could and Max slipped off her with a chortle. She jabbed the girl in the side until Max swatted at her fingers, "Fine. I'll get Steve to drop you off... you little shit."

 Max fluttered her long lashes, ocean-blue eyes rippling with glistening waves. Her voice mimicked Scarlet's, a tone filled with so much sugar one could get a cavity, "Your little shit."

 "My little shit."

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EXTRA CHAPTER, date: 11-07-2022

scar and max are actually what are currently keeping me breathing xoxo

again, i lied and have ANOTHER oneshot to go after this one. it's cute and i just had to include it.s 

don't forget to let me know what you think; and remember that i now require a particular number of comments and feedback before i consider releasing the next part (this is just to ensure people remain engaged and supportive, as well as allowing me to see what you all enjoyed most!)